


Winter's Alright for a Fight

by MageofEnd



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Based on ingame events, Special Thanks to Wilsie you saved us, Thank you to the Gambit guys for making this fic possible, Wilson saves everyone somehow, adding the violence warning to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:55:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageofEnd/pseuds/MageofEnd
Summary: They were counting on him. Wilson knew this.





	Winter's Alright for a Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a game with:
> 
> Wilson: https://quaagporo.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Maxwell: https://maxwellsdoor.tumblr.com/
> 
> Webber: https://spidcrspawn.tumblr.com/
> 
>  
> 
> Others Who Appeared!:
> 
> Warly: https://tangledinourweb.tumblr.com/
> 
> WX-78: https://peridotswallow.tumblr.com/
> 
> Wendy: https://shay-the-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/
> 
> Wes: Unknown
> 
> For Context: Jimothy is Wilson's pet rabbit

CRACK

 

He feels his heartbeat in his chest, it isn’t his original heart. In fact, it wasn’t a heart at all, really. It was a makeshift thing of spider organs, grass, blood, and what some called magic. He’d died a million times and he’d die a million more, it was just now that he couldn’t die. He wouldn’t die! 

 

Wilson looks up to the beast looming in front of him, one, single eye focused on him, and only him. It was winter, the beast was bound to come, they just hadn’t expected it so soon. It roars, or bleats, or it does something like both. Wilson wonders- No! There was no time for that! No time for hypothesis or logic! Thinking was dying, and he couldn’t die! No, he had to run! 

 

He can feel the earth shake as it follows him, feel the tiny needles of ice stick into his skin when the beast’s attacks shatter after they miss him. His fingers are numb, his thermal stone long gone cold. Wilson picks up speed, he had to put some distance between him and this thing! Trees snap and fall behind him, crushed under the giant’s hooves and great, icy, claws.

 

Wilson spots something out of the corner of his eye, he tries not to gag at the sight surrounding it. Willow’s broken body, twisted and frozen in the extreme cold, the snow surrounding it stained crimson. Willow floats above her old body, she’d have a new one if he made it, everyone but Wilson would. They would live, if he could live.

 

The scientist glances behind him, it was getting closer. Wilson looks up at Willow’s spectral form, attempting to utter an apology, but nothing comes out. He simply scoops up the strange crown Maxwell had given her for Winter’s Feast, ignoring the substance it was coated in. It makes his limbs feel heavy and his hair stand on end, but Wilson knew it would protect him. 

 

His mind feels fuzzy, shadows writhe and slither around the edges of his vision. Wilson turns to face the Deerclops, Maxwell’s ghost glides along just behind it, presumably coming from where he had died. The magician joins Willow, looking on in despair. There was nothing they could do, Giants couldn’t be haunted, even if they could be, it wouldn’t do anything, they were simply too big for it to affect them. Maxwell says something, Willow nodding in agreement, but Wilson can’t hear it. It only comes across as a ghostly whisper that wears even more on Wilson’s mind, which was a already failing him.

 

Wilson grips his spear tighter, he can’t feel it, he can hardly feel anything.

 

CRASH

 

Ice springs from the ground, headed straight towards him, Wilson leaps to the side, landing in the snow. The deerclops turns, standing for a moment, searching for him. If there was one flaw they had, it was their eyesight. It spots him, or, at least, it gets some idea of where he is when Wilson moves. The scientist charges, plunging the spear into it’s leg. The deerclops roars in pain as he wrenches it back out, blood beginning to seep from the wound. Wilson grins, proud of himself for landing a hit, but it is short lived. As he is suddenly thrown to the side, skidding a distance before coming to a stop. A feeling of cold spreads across his body, beginning where the beast had stuck him, spreading outward. A thin layer of ice has formed on his skin, perhaps the deerclops’ attacks drew moisture from- No. Wilson mentally slaps himself, focus, just focus!

 

Snow begins to fall in fat flakes as white as the ghosts that floated around him, Willow, Maxwell, Webber, Jimothy, everyone! Everyone was counting on him! He could do this! For everyone! The shadows would come for him soon, they were gaining substance by the minute. He can’t seem them right now, but the image crosses Wilson’s mind. The strange, gray, rings around his wrists, Wilson doesn’t know what they’re from, or even what they are, but Maxwell had them too. He’d caught glimpses of them underneath his sleeves, though they were much darker than Wilson’s…

 

CRACK

 

Wilson is snapped back to reality, he’s shivering, losing heat faster than his body could produce it. Those same claws swipe at him, he tries to dodge but it’s too late. He’d lived and died and survived for so long, and this was how he would die, surrounded by ghosts and shadows.

 

But death does not come, instead, a red light surrounds him, glowing in the dusk, the blow seems to go right through him, as if he were spectral.

 

Wilson grins, and charges again.

 

Hit, dodge, get hit, charge.

 

It was likely scientifically impossible.

 

Hit, dodge, hit.

 

But perhaps he could do this.

 

Get hit, hit, dodge.

 

The shadows were real now, gliding after him, a new creature replacing any he killed.

 

Run, hit, dodge, hit.

 

Perhaps there was a pattern, a method in the madness. 

 

Hit, run, hit, dodge.

 

Ghostly voices echo through the air.

 

Hit, run, hit, dodge.

 

The sun sets, yet the battle rages on, illuminated by ghostly light. Wilson runs between ghosts, the weight of the darkness, the smell of roses, and the oh-so-familiar presence never far behind. The deerclops has lost him in the dark, swinging blindly at nothing

 

Hit, run, hit, get hit. 

 

A lucky hit, the light comes again, Wilson takes the opportunity, and charges, one last time. The creature had gotten on all fours, an attempt to find it’s attacker, but it was too dark. Wilson slips underneath the deerclops’ chest, pursued by shadows, thrusting his spear upwards. The creature recoils, tearing the spear from his hands, but it has done it’s job. 

 

The deerclops, the monster that had slaughtered his friends, comes crashing down, into the snow, dead. Wilson would like to be relieved, but his head hurt like mad, and the shadow creatures were still after him. This was no time for celebration. The base wasn’t far, but Wilson would have to run, though he was already exhausted. Wilson takes off, pursued by the spirits of his dearly departed friends, he’s drenched in sweat but he’s so, so, cold. He’d have to light a fire.

 

The base comes into view, simple, stone, walls and not much else on the outside. Wilson throws open the gate, slamming it behind him, maybe that would keep them out? Either way, shadows were slow, or at least, most of them were. Wilson races over to the chests, frantically digging through them until he found what he needed. The foul-smelling glands and dried grass they’d collected during Autumn.

 

Wilson throws some grass onto the fading embers of the fire, it would warm him for now. The glands are tied together and stuffed with grass, and then bled on. Wilson was bleeding anyway, so that last part wasn’t hard. The blood seeps into the gland, so quickly it almost seems like magic. That was ridiculous, though, magic wasn’t real, after all. The gland begins to move in Wilson’s hand, beginning to twitch, before it has a steady, audible beat. 

 

The shadows have caught up to him now, one of them rears up, calling out a silent battle cry. Wilson begins running again, he had to give the heart to someone! Wilson scans the area, Willow! Willow was here! She likely knew where Bernie was! Bernie could help them! 

 

“Willow…” Wilson coughs, offering her the heart. “Willow, here!”

 

The heart beats faster as Willow approaches, she’s grinning like mad.

 

She says something, Wilson can’t hear it properly, but he’s close enough to read her lips.

 

“Thanks, guy.”

 

Willow puts out a spectral hand, the heart floating upward into it. She presses it into her chest, and she disappears. A new body begins to form around the heart, bone and muscle and skin, even clothing. Willow hovers for a moment, before falling to the ground with a thud. She looks around, to where Wilson had already started on creating another heart, while simultaneously shoving cold meatballs into his mouth. The shadows had faded, they had lost enough substance to not be a threat, so he works slower.

 

He finishes, offering it to Webber this time, then moving on to yet another heart for Maxwell.

 

Webber stands up. “Mr. Higgsbury, you should-”

 

Wilson finishes the last heart, trudging over to Maxwell, holding it out to him. Maxwell nods, taking it, and soon, he too, has returned to the land of the living. Wilson grins at the tall magician, Wilson grins- and collapses.

 

“Woah there, pal!” Maxwell exclaims, catching Wilson and lowering him to the ground. 

 

“Heh.” 

 

The world goes dark.

***

 

Wilson wakes up. Oh, why did he feel so aw- Everything comes crashing back to him, the deerclops and the shadow monsters, and the three telltale hearts. How was he even alive? Wilson tries to sit up, oh, he feels like he was trampled by a horse! 

 

“‘GOOD’ MORNING, SCIENCE UNIT.”

 

Wilson screams, whipping around to face the incredibly sneaky robot, which only causes him more pain. 

 

“How long have you been there?!” Wilson exclaims.

 

“TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS, FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, THIRTY SECONDS. THOUGH I HAVE LEFT FOR MEALS. SILENT UNIT HAS FILLED IN OTHERWISE. I HAVE BEEN WAITING TO CONGRATULATE YOU ON FINALLY MAKING YOURSELF USEFUL. I WILL HOLD OFF ON KILLING YOU FOR NOW.”

 

That was a relief, he guessed.

 

Webber, having heard the commotion, pokes his head inside the tent. 

 

“Guys! He’s up!”

 

Soon, Wilson’s tent is flooded by the others, thanking him, and generally making sure he was alright. Warly pushes through the crowd, carrying a large portion of hot stew and setting it in front of Wilson. 

 

“Eat, friend. You must be starving after such an ordeal!” Warly says, “Old meatballs are nothing compared to a hot meal.”

 

Wilson’s eyes widen at the sight of food, gosh that was a lot. “T- Thank you.” 

 

“No, thank you!” Warly laughs, “I was afraid we were in for it there!” 

 

Wilson downs the stew so fast he nearly chokes on it, he felt a little weird not offering some to the others. Maxwell moves to the front of the group, Wilson really hopes he doesn’t lecture him on his eating habits again. 

 

“I must admit, that was quite the show you put on, Higgsbury. I complement your sudden burst of competence.”

 

“Er, thanks?”

 

“Indeed.” Maxwell says with a nod, “Now, young Wendy and I are going to be checking on the bees. So, if you need us, you will know where we are.”

 

And with that, Maxwell is gone.

 

Wes sits on the floor across from him. He waves at Wilson, there’s a bandage around his arm. He must have revived Warly, WX, or Wendy, after someone else saved him.

 

“Hi Wes, good to see you’re alright.”

 

Wes smiles, giving him a thumbs-up.

 

Wilson leans back, his hand brushing against something solid. Willow’s crown. Wilson picks it up, looking it over. It was still intact after all that…

 

Wilson picks himself up, throwing off the blanket and exiting the tent. Wes gets up grabs his hand, pointing to the bedroll. He was asking Wilson to rest.

 

“I’ll be fine, Wes.” Wilson says. 

 

Wes points at the bedroll again, If Wes was one thing, besides a mime, he was stubborn.

 

“I just want to talk to Willow.”

 

Wes looks at him quizzically.

 

“I just want to give her her hat, and I’ll be right back to bedrest!” Wilson says, showing Wes the crown.

 

Wes heaves a silent sigh, dramatically posing in a ‘right this way’. 

 

“Thank you! I’ll be back shortly.”

 

Finding Willow is easy, she’s where she always is, by the fire.

 

“Hi.”

 

Willow turns to him. “Heya!”

 

She picks Bernie up, setting him in her lap, making room for him to sit by her.

 

“Oh- Uhm, I really just came out here to return this to you. It’s yours, and I feel bad having taken it…”

 

“What-” Willow spots the crown. “Oh! It’s alright! It kept you safe, didn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, but it still isn’t mine.” He says, handing it to her. “Now, uh, I’m supposed to be resting. I will see you later.”

 

“Pfft! You’re up and out here, aren’t you? It’s not like you have anywhere else to be!”

 

“Actually,” Wilson chuckles, “It seems I’m spending the rest of Winter’s Feast being held captive by a mime. He just let me out to give that back to you.”

 

“Well, then I’ll come with you! Be your buddy in clown prison!” Willow says, smiling.

 

“Will you break us out, too?”

 

“Heck yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Sounds like one heck of a way to pass the time!”

 

Wilson offers her his hand, he was still in pain, but not as much as before. Willow takes it, letting him help her up.

 

“When we escape, will Maxwell have to harbor us as fugitives?” Wilson asks.

 

Willow snorts. “You bet.”

 

[END]


End file.
